


2020 - Xmas Drabbles

by interestedbystander



Category: Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Christmas, Christmas Fluff, Christmas Tree, Domestic Fluff, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-04
Updated: 2020-12-14
Packaged: 2021-03-09 22:40:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 4,799
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27883909
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/interestedbystander/pseuds/interestedbystander
Summary: These are from my old Tumblr for a challenge that went nowhere. But figured I'd drag them over here to be ignored too xo
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes & Reader, James "Bucky" Barnes/Reader
Comments: 24
Kudos: 34





	1. Decorating the house to reflect the Season with your significant other

“I’m still recovering from Thanksgiving lunch and you’re makin’ me get up on a ladder to fix the star to the top of the tree?” Bucky muttered from where he dozed on the couch, arms crossed across his strong chest as his eyes fluttered closed, losing the battle to stay awake.

Sighing, you put your hands on your hips, gold star dangling from your fingertips. He opened one eye and by God, if he wouldn’t kill a man when you pouted. Huffing, he moved to his feet and held his gunmetal grey and gold palm out to you.

“You’re incorrigible,” he muttered.

“I’ll accept that as a compliment, you Grinch. Now get up on that chair, please,” you hinted as he did as he was told – he was so painfully under the thumb, he thought to himself. How anyone could possibly fear him when you made him a big mushy old bag of bones was lost on him, but here he was, exaggerating (not) old creaky knees as he clambered up to place the star on top.

Cheekily, and to be expected, you watched his back muscles and biceps flex and relax under the fluid reach of his moments. God, what a sight. He was so handsome, you could eat him… you probably would later.

A few moments of fussing, he looked back at you, not at all desperately seeking your approval. Watching the smile brighten your features, he bit back his self-satisfied smile, just happy you were happy. “May I get off the chair now, your highness?”

“Yes, before you fall and I hear all about how you’re too old for this shit,” you teased and he didn’t argue, he really enjoyed the mileage he got out of being over 100 years old and physically resembling his mid-30’s. “Thank you,” you moved towards the light switch and flicked them off before replacing the dark with the gentle fade in and out of the white from the lights on the tree. He opened his arms to you and you snuggled in, gladly.

“Oh,” Bucky said suddenly. “You forgot a bauble.”

“What, where?” you feigned surprise as he crossed the room to pick it up. Your heart rate started to rise as he lifted the glass delicately to his palm. He spun it and stopped suddenly, pausing on a spot.

“The fuck…” he muttered. He looked at you, eyes wide. “Baby Barnes?”

“Baby Barnes,” you confirmed, unable to bite your smile back as he re-read the silver bauble.

“Baby Barnes!” he exclaimed, moving over to your swiftly and taking your face in his hands. “You aren’t just yankin’ my chain right now, are you?” his eyes widened, preparing himself for the worst.

“ _So_ pregnant, have been nauseous all day,” you replied, finally at ease to let yourself appear as ragged as you felt and he held you tighter to keep you upright.

“Oh, sugar. Holy shit,” Bucky giggled to himself, tenderly nipping at your lips with his. “How long have you known?”

“Few weeks – almost a month,” you admitted. “Long enough to get a rush order on the bauble,” you had to laugh as he did too.

“Plan well executed,” he admitted as his warm palm snuck under the woollen sweater you were wearing against the non-existent bump on your lower belly. “Okay, now I’m getting into the Christmas spirit.”

“It’ll be the last one where it’s just you and I. And Steve and Sam,” you grunted the last part. Bucky beamed.

“Well, it’s not like we haven’t had enough practice with those two!” 


	2. Think about last Christmas. How was your life different then? How is it the same?

_Last Christmas, I gave you my heart –_

You loved this Christmas song. In fact, you loved it any time of year – Last Christmas by Wham! had that same affect on you that Mariah Carey’s All I Want for Christmas is You did. You could find yourself humming it in the height of summer if the mood struck you.

You were pottering around the apartment, doing some last minute prep before your guests were arriving. Just a small get together with friends, an annual dinner party before everyone dispersed and went their separate ways to see their families. It was usually at your place and you loved entertaining, so it seemed like a good fit. But the apartment just seemed so much smaller than the last time everyone was in one place.

You knew why it seemed so cluttered now though. The life (and furniture) that comes when an extra body co-habits the same space. That same life that was teasingly wriggling his dark eyebrows under the mistletoe he was holding and ushering you over to him with a come hither bob of the head.

“This might be the last real kiss I get tonight before everyone gets here. Don’t make me come to you, sweetheart,” he warned as you blushed and he was suddenly invading your space, his arm above you and waving the plastic mistletoe over your head. His lips were on yours and you never got sick of how sweet the feeling of his gentle touch to yours was. “There,” he said against your lips. “Was it really that bad?”

“No, it was definitely not bad,” you reassured him, caressing the stubble on his cheek as he grinned gently at you. “I love kissing you.”

“Hell yeah,” he drawling, proudly. “Looked like you had your head in the clouds. Thought you needed bringing back down to earth.”

“I was just thinking…” you said, tucking some loose waves behind his hair. “How different this place feels. Last year, I didn’t even know you – we met at this same party when Sam brought you along – and look at us a year later.”

“Livin’, lovin’ and spending all our time together?” he figured fondly.

“When you’re not saving the world,” you bopped his nose. “Exactly.”

“Certainly has been a big 12 months,” he agreed, taking a step back and reaching for a bottle of wine on the bar. He unscrewed it and poured a glass for you both, raising a toast to you. “To another amazing 12 months and the rest of our lives, sweetheart.” You blushed as his frame surrounded you and he held you nice and tight, warming to your bones. You felt him kiss your hair, you loved how his entire being could swallow you and make you feel whole.

Another world from last year when you felt so incredibly lonely. You had been so good on your own but something changed – something you still couldn’t put your finger on. You trained yourself to think your mind, heart and soul was preparing you for Bucky to enter your life. He couldn’t have given you that shy smile at a better time.

And oh god, that ugly sweater he wore but those fond eyes that crinkled when he gave his wayward smile, his boyish giggle when he laughed and dear god… that body under that slightly too tight sweater - **_Buzz!_**

The doorbell rang and you parted, not before wiping Bucky’s swollen full lips. My, my, how a year could change you.


	3. Write about your favourite Christmas book or movie.

“ _Die Hard_.”

“ _Love Actually_.”

“We’re at an impasse, sweetheart,” Bucky told you, hands on hips, your Netflix account shortlisting your favourite shared Christmas flicks and neither of you were giving in. “We’ve been arguin’ about this for the last thirty minutes and we’re no closer to a resolution.”

“So just let me win,” you reasoned, a wide grin on your face as he bit back a smirk of his own – he’d never get sick of you yanking his chain. “We watch _Love Actually_ then I’ll pass out while you watch _Die Hard_ afterwards. Win win.”

“No deal.”

Sighing, you dramatically fell on to the couch. “Is there another film you want to watch instead then?” you finally asked, taking the remote and flicking through the shortlist of Christmas movies. “ _Home Alone, The Grinch_? Oh, shit, yes! Have you seen _National Lampoon’s Christmas Vacation_?”

A blank look registered on Bucky’s face as he shook his head, a tendril of dark hair falling into his baby blues. “Never heard of it.”

“Oh, baby boy, you are in for a treat. I’ll put the popcorn on, you can toss another log on the fire – can I just say,” you said, wandering into the kitchenette of the cabin you’d found online and raiding the groceries you’d brought before you checked in then fixing the popcorn bag and tossing it into the microwave. “Leaving the city for this place for Christmas was the best idea.”

“I’m full of great ideas – ask Sam. Even if at least 97% of them have us being shot at,” Bucky kidded (although he knew you knew it was a fairly accurate statistic), squatting before the warm flames and adjusting the logs with the prong. “But you’re right, leaving the city,” he reiterated. “You, me, Christmas movies, wine, very little clothing and sex by the fireplace? I’ll do this every fuckin’ year.”

“Well, then it’s settled – this is what we do every year,” you announced as the corn kernels started popping.

“Done,” Bucky agreed, standing to his full height. “So, is this movie, like, another romcom that you’ve somehow lulled me into with a false sense of security?”

“No,” you replied as he approached and bypassed you for the fridge and a couple of bottles of beer. He cracked them both open, handing you one. “Comedy. 1980’s tragic comedy. It’ll be right up your alley, really have you cackling.”

He brightened. “Awesome – then _Die Hard_.”

The microwave sung its finale song, the popcorn’s buttery scent filling the house and your mouths watered. You pulled out the piping hot bag that Bucky stole with his cybernetic hand, finding a large bowl in a cupboard and tipping the steaming popcorn into.

“Couch,” Bucky instructed as you took off, tossing yourself playfully over the back of it, landing in a pile of messy pillows and cushions – it had really been a sloth few days that you wouldn’t change for the world. Bucky wandered around and took a seat like a normal person as you started the film and the familiar jingle of Christmas bells commenced along with the silly cartoon that began the film, Bucky smiling as you snuggled around him. 90 minutes later and lots of cackles shared between you both, Bucky laughed quietly as the film came to its close. “That was great,” he admitted.

“Better than _Die Hard_?”

Making a face, he had to shake his head. “Different,” he said. “But I’m still not sure it’s better than _Die Hard_.”


	4. Write about the best Christmas present you have ever received. Why was it so special?

Christmas morning was always a subtle affair for you and Bucky. You tried to keep it as low key as possible, it was always a pretty big day. You were off to Tony’s soiree later and there would be so much food, drink, merriment and seasonal good cheer to be shared. And booze, because Howling Commandos stories were always a little more adventurous after you’d had a glass of wine or two.

But at that moment, you were baffled. You had laid Bucky’s few presents under the tree last night but there was nothing there for you. You knew he’d braved the stores in the city, much to his utter disdain but did he come back empty-handed each time? All answers pointed to yes.

And sure, you knew the season wasn’t about receiving, but fuck. If you knew he wasn’t going to get you anything, you might have made a little less of an effort (he wanted new moccasins – though boring, at least he gave you something to work with for once). He was impossible to buy for. Added to that, you’d got him a new navy cable woollen sweater and a new fancy tumbler set for his special whiskey.

“You’re not going to find your present there, sweetheart,” Bucky wandered from the kitchen silently (his damn footfall not making a peep as always, “years as a super assassin, babydoll. You’d never even know I was here”, he’d explained one night) with a yawn, coffee cup in cybernetic hand and a lax scratch to his toned belly just above the waistband of his flannel PJ bottoms –

You bounced away from the tree, flushing with guilt but softened as you caught Bucky’s amused grin from behind his coffee cup and mussed bedhead before approaching you with a kiss. “Merry Christmas, baby.”

Merry Christmas to me, you bit back a small smile, never quite understanding how you’d get over the fact this beautiful man went to bed with you every night. He took a seat in his armchair and grinned at you, patting the side of his seat. “Merry Christmas, Buck.”

“Come take a seat,” he urged as you did, plopping on the side before he pulled you into his arms to snuggle. “Did you want to do presents now?” he suggested – he’d sprung you sneaking a peak for hints and clues so often, he figured he may as well put you out of your misery sooner rather than later.

You frowned. “Look, I know you’re the assassin – but I’m the spy and there is nothing in this apartment that remotely relates to something you’d give to me for Christmas,” you gave a pitiful wail, admitting that you’d finally been bested by him.

Cackling, Bucky nodded, dropping his eyes. “Think a paranoid old man would leave your present in a place you’d go looking for it? Jesus, I kept it hiding in plain sight,” he said, pulling at the chain his dog tags sat on, gently lifting them over his head to avoid getting them stuck in his shaggy locks before giving you a gentle kiss and putting the chain, warm from his body heat, over your head and letting it fall with a tinkle. Gasping, you took it in your hands. Was he giving you these?

“You aren’t giv – ”

“Of course I am. Everything I am is imprinted on this metal,” he said quietly as he toyed with them, jingling them in his cybernetic palm and flipping it over to reveal a key you hadn’t noticed before.

“What’s this?” you asked.

“Key to my heart,” he teased with a muffled laugh as you rolled your eyes – this man wasn’t _that_ sentimental. “Up,” he instructed, holding out his warm palm and leading you to the window. Pulling you before him, he rested his chin on your shoulder, pointing. “See that brownstone?”

“I love that building.”

“Yeah. I hope you _really_ love it because I’ve been demolishing it for the better part of six months with Clint’s help.”

“Still lost.”

Kissing your jaw, he murmured, “It’s ours.”

Jaw gaping, you turned to face him. “What?”

“Merry Christmas, sweetheart. We’re renovating,” he grinned, grabbing your old night shirt and leading you to the door. “Wanna see if the key fits?”


	5. You are in charge of planning Christmas dinner. Create a menu for your perfect Christmas meal.

“What the fuck was I thinking?” you asked as you flicked through the recipes on the tablet before you, links saved under the guise of “ _1940’s Xmas menu_ ”.

Not your brightest idea. In midst of a depression and a World War, rationing left very little to the imagination to make Bucky a Christmas dinner he would never forget. Or want to remember.

You were down with turkey, cool cool but the giblet gravy you could probably do without, kudos for using all the bird though, you figured. Why, drunk on a half bottle of wine, did you announce to Bucky and Steve that you were going to make the best Christmas dinner reminiscent of their youth?! The men tried to talk you down, reminding you that modern fare was much more their scene but you got ballsier, announcing you’d “put a spin on their old time favourites” as Sam cackled with laughter, thrilled at the day’s development. _His best Thanksgiving ever._ That really should have been the first warning sign.

_Fuck._

Okay, you tried to gather yourself. You were mere days away. You could do this. You were resourceful, clever and planning things in the field quickly was your MO.

So why was did the thought of cracking tech with a gun pointed at your temple seem like a flipping walk in the park?

“Sweetheart, I’m so sorry,” Bucky was suddenly all around you, his arms snaking around your torso and nuzzling your neck, the graze of his stubble tickling. Or infuriating, you couldn’t tell as you snuck out of his grasp, unable to hide your disappointment. “I feel so awful. But please don’t be upset this didn’t turn out. Sometimes we gotta save the world on Christmas Day too.”

He took a step closer, you took one back. It told him everything he needed to know, devastated himself.

While Bucky’s reasoning was 100% legitimate, around you food prep littered bench tops and wine was breathing. And now he was jumping in a Quinjet and going God knows where to hunt some Hydra scum Sam had confirmed intel on and if they didn’t act soon, they may lose them. You, on the other hand, been let off the hook, you’re expertise not needed today. 

Shit. You kind of wish they were though. At least you’d be with Bucky.

You spied the small handmade personal menus you’d made as Bucky left, footfall silent, to get himself organised. 

**_Menu:_ **

_Entree_

  * _Oyster cocktail_
  * _Soup_
  * _Clear soup with mushrooms_



_Main_

  * _Roast turkey with Oyster stuffing_
  * _Paris mashed potatoes_
  * _Cauliflower au gratin_
  * _Sautéed beans and peas_



_Dessert_

  * _Plum pudding_



_Coffee_

You imagined, if successful, the meal would have been rich, satisfying and all the stress well and truly worth it. But as you started texting friends who generally shunned the holidays for various reasons (avoiding drama, working, absent families), texting, “Wayyy more food than anticipated for just Buck and the boys. Come join us at 3pm. Bring wine xo”

You lied, but it was concise and to the point as you heard the apartment door close quietly, Bucky leaving. You both hated over the top farewells. This was for the best. You’d make it up for each other another time. “Fuck,” you muttered to yourself, tears welling before you furiously blinked them away and took a deep slug of wine, the acrid burgundy making your breath hitch you a moment as you tried to compose yourself. 

It worked, always cool in a crisis. But goddamn if you didn’t feel like your heart left with Bucky.


	6. Christmas songs - love them or hate them, why?

“If I hear this song one one time, I might cut my goddamn ears off,” Bucky muttered as again, Sia’s Santa’s Coming for Us, filled the living room while you smirked from behind your book. You were living for taunting him with the song. 

“It’s cute - and I can’t do anything about the shuffle feature. It’s random, you’re just susceptible to hearing it. Be thankful it wasn’t Pentatonix.” Oh, you HATED Pentatonix.

“I’ve been through worse cruel punishment,” he reminded himself with a shudder, snatching the AppleTV control and forwarding the song. He relaxed as Judy Garland’s croon filtered through the room before he pushed himself to his feet and offered a cybernetic hand out you. “Let me take you for a spin.” 

God, you loved this man before you and you tried to bite back the giggle that bubbled from your lips as you gave him your palm and he whipped you gently into his strong grasp. 

“All these modern songs are so contrived,” he continued his light tirade on Christmas songs and you couldn’t get over why he was taking it so personally but that was one of those things you went through, living and loving a man from another time than you. “And that goddamn autotune. Just shows the complete lack of talent in pop music.”

“Not just pop music,” you humoured him as he pulled back a little to delicately spin you under his arm and back into them. Chest to chest, eyes soft staring at the other. Oof, it didn’t get much better than this as your inside started to melt. He just had a power over you that you’d never admit to anyone. Not that he’d laid it, he’d never need to. But you were his true North. And you were his home.

His blue eyes always seemed to glow a little brighter when he felt sentimental. This was one of the things he retained from the war. From before his life was taken from him. For something to keep now that he got another shot at life. He rested his chin on your hair, humming to himself. “Can we just stay like this for a little longer?” He whispered as the song ended and something far more upbeat and jazzy commenced. “Just want to hold you a little longer.”

“I’m not going anywhere,” you reminded him.

“My sweet darling, you’ve made me so happy,” he whispered. “Thank you for giving an old, grumpy bastard like me a reason for livin’. No one has ever loved me like you do.”

Yup, if Bucky wasn’t careful, the puddle he’d already made you, you’d probably both slip on. So instead you looked up and said, “I love you, Bucky.”

A fond smile that started at his eyes, created the dimples in his cheeks and revealed his gleaming teeth shone back at you. “I know, my love. I know. But it’ll never be half as much as I love you.”


	7. Christmas in the snow, Christmas in the sun, why?

“I love white Christmases,” Bucky said as he laid his lean, tanned frame out on the sun lounger in front of the pool at the Stark Malibu compound. It had long since been re-built but not often used by Pepper and Morgan these days, preferring their quaint wilderness retreat.

You groaned a little in irritation and a lot in appreciation as you watched himself get comfortable, adjusting his tortoise shell Ray-Bans over his deep blue though squinting eyes. “Think you could have mentioned that before we skipped across the country to come here for some sun instead? I thought you wanted to this.”

Grinning but not looking up, he tucked an arm behind his head. “I don’t recall saying I am not enjoying this. If you’d let me finish, _impatience_ ,” he muttered. “I was going to add a sunny Christmas is a fuckin’ treat too. Not wrapped up in layers of clothes and riskin’ goddamn ugly sweater parties. God, I hate those things. Why make us spend money on something we hate anyway -“

“Hello, Depression era,” you teased.

Making a face, he continued, “This might just be the life, kid,” he concluded with a dramatic sigh and reached for a sip of his Tom Collins cocktail before taking a loud, obnoxious slurp. “So, thank you for suggesting the change of scenery.”

Pouting at his sweetness, you couldn’t hide his favourite smile. “Well, then… You’re welcome.”

“Lay some sugar on me,” he ordered in that rough Brooklyn tone he growled when he needed you to hear his desire and you dutifully reached across to kiss his full, cool (from the ice in the drink) lips. Sweet, like the lime that bobbled in his tumbler. Oh, how you adored him.

“Sugar layed,” you grinned jovially in return as he pulled your sunnies from your face to look at you. You scowled, sunlight the enemy, and covered your eyes.

“Best fuckin’ present ever,” he muttered, quietly. Adoringly.

“What is?” You asked, a little confused, coming to and looking at him.

“You are, kid. I’ll never know what I did right for the universe to drop you in my lap, but I’ll take a sunny Christmas Day everyday for the rest of my life, even if I’m in Hell, as long as you’re beside me.”

Blushing as you snatched back your glasses, shielding your watery eyes, you replied, “Good. Because snow sucks, and you’re right. So do ugly sweater parties. I much prefer you all relaxed and sunkissed, your wet hair and all cute and curly. In boardshorts, half naked.”

Staggered, he asked, “Am I not sexy in my ugly sweaters?”

“Yes,” you admitted. “But much more so when I’m ripping them off you.”


	8. Sharing Christmas traditions with your significant other.

“My mother has always made a spectacle of Christmas,” you told Bucky as you watched him look back at you fondly. He was always so genuinely interested to hear about your family. He loved them just as much, they’d adopted him into the family from the first moment they’d met him.  
He was staggered - you know, because of his past - that anyone could be so forgiving. You reassured him your mother just thought he was cute and the joke that had kind of just stuck. Because at this point, Bucky was your mum’s pride and joy, showed him off everywhere you all went together and greatly exaggerated how he was saving the world a day at a time.  
It embarrassed him, but in no way badly. He was also quietly chuffed someone could be proud of him too. He knew how you felt, your love for Bucky Barnes knew no bounds. But to have it emulated by your family? That was worth a million bucks.  
“So what? Like, lights?” The excited little nerdy kid in Bucky envisioned himself already up on the roof, stapling the shit out of reams of lights and lighting up the city block like Tony used to with Avengers Tower.  
“Like, lights?” You repeated. “And decorating the whole house. The table for Christmas lunch is set the day after Thanksgiving. We all have our own stockings that must be placed on the fireplace in birth order. And every year we receive socks and undies in them even though all the kids are now adults. Kinda weird.”  
“Wouldn’t it be weirder if after all this time they weren’t in there?” Asked the voice of reason. Damn you, Bucky Barnes.  
“Probably,” you agreed. “And Christmas Eve, my mother invites all her friends over for a cocktail party that goes well after midnight.”  
“What about Christmas Day then?”  
“Well, the little ones who don’t make it to midnight generally wake us at some ungodly hour to make the hangovers so much more potent.”  
Bucky laughed, nudging closer to you in the bed that you grew up in. Under your parents roof on Christmas Eve eve night, festivities only a few hours away. He couldn’t wait.


	9. You’re attending a mutual friend’s Christmas Party and your crush turns up.

“Sam… you said Bucky was not going to come,” you said lowly through gritted teeth and taking a much needed swig of champagne. “‘ _Bucky is a recluse_ ’,” you mocked Sam’s original excuses for you to come to his small gathering but you said yes only on the provision Bucky wouldn’t be there. But alas! There he was, in black jeans the were made for his long, powerful legs, a warm white cable-knit sweater and a black leather jacket thrown over his muscular arms.

Oh, you were a goner with this man. Every reason in the book said this “crush” you had in Bucky was terrible, awful idea:

  * Previously The Winter Soldier. Unknown number of kills (even if he was under mind control at the time); and
  * …well, only really number 1. But wasn’t that enough?



The list of why your said crush was reaching staggering’s levels was much, much longer. Let’s list to aggrivated purposes, shall we? That’s much more pleasant:

  * He smiles and he has a dimple and his eyes crinkle and he blushes and it’s ridiculous;
  * He is a nerd. And hot nerds are kind, absolutely of your thing;
  * But he looks NOTHING like a hot nerd should. Muscles, and handsomeness, and intelligence and -
  * He was standing right in front of you and Sam, handing you a fresh glass of champagne and thanking Sam for the invite, making a joke that he didn’t even think they were even friends.



“We aren’t,” Sam confirms. “But Steve told me to stop giving you a hard time. Think of it as the Miracle of Christmas. Have you met my friend, here?” He answered as Bucky chuckled and kissed your cheek in greeting.

“Good to see you. Sam didn’t mention you were coming.”

“Was a long shot,” Sam teased, that knowing smirk on his face that he knew you were uncomfortable and on the other hand, anything to give you shit was fine with him. You’d have to kill Sam now.

“Good to see you, Bucky,” you finally managed to open your mouth and remove the foot that had lodged itself there. You finished the older glass of champagne to whet your anxious pallet. You didn’t know how he made you so hopeless but you were putty in Bucky’s hands. It was hard to feel so out of control with him and you had to wonder, did he know? If he did, he didn’t go out of his way to make you uncomfortable or lead you on.

But for the next few minutes, you would bumble along in oblivion and just enjoy him company. His smile. His eyes. His giggle. His cologne…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Fin** \- thanks for reading! Hope you have a wonderful holiday season however you choose to celebrate this one-in-a-hundredth bizarre year x


End file.
